


Emergency Contact

by MumbleBee19



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-03-24 09:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13808349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MumbleBee19/pseuds/MumbleBee19
Summary: Bob gets a call.





	1. Bob

**Author's Note:**

> Rating for language. Minor physical injuries + anxiety and OCD related descriptions. Apologies for my terrible Quebecois! Any longer conversations are 'translated' using the < > convention. Characters belong to the brilliant Ngozi!

Every time the phone rang outside of normal phone-ringing hours or expectations - too early, too late, unknown numbers - Bob could feel his heart skip a beat. Or four. It had been nine years since Jack’s overdose, but the dread of that call had embedded itself into his bones. Bob figured this was the closest he'd come to understanding Jack's anxiety. The absolute worst case possibility consuming your thoughts until you could barely breathe let alone speak. 

Sometimes he was deeply tempted to just… not… pick up the phone when it rang with those unknown digits. As if he could stop whatever was happening by not answering. Like his childhood dog, Anouk, staring resolutely into the corner away from the trash she'd upended and rootled through. If she couldn't see it, it wasn't real. If he didn't answer, it wasn't happening.

But he did pick up. Because the not knowing was actually worse. And it was never about Jack any more. He'd had nine years of last minute cancellations, rebooked flights, Alicia miscalculating time zones, wrong numbers. But no calls from hospitals about his only child. Not for nine years. Not until this morning.

\--  
Bob jerked awake, arms flailing a little awkwardly at the loud and persistent ring of their home phone. The practically useless landline that Jack teased them about even though he was the only one that ever called it. Bob scrabbled on the coffee table for his glasses and nearly bobbled the handset in his hurry to answer. He was absolutely not napping in the middle of the afternoon like an old man. Nope. 

"Allo?"

"Erm, hello? Is this the Zimmermann residence?"

"Ouis. Yes. This is Bob Zimmermann." Bob's heart was starting to pound in his temples. Strange voice, strange number, correct residence.

"Hi Mr. Zimmermann, I'm calling from Massachusetts General Hospital…"

Bob could distinctly feel the blood drain out of his face - so much so that a loud whine sang in his ears like when he used to get hit particularly hard without a helmet on.

"... we just wanted to let you know."

"Pardon. Sorry, sorry, I ... lost you for a minute there. You said you're calling from the hospital?"

"Oh, yes sir. My name's Jenna and I'm one of the nurses in emergency. Your son Jack has you listed as his second emergency contact, and since his first contact was in the car too, we called you right away."

"Merde. Is he. Are they ok? What happened?" Bob trailed off breathlessly.

"Pretty banged up, but no major trauma for either one that we can tell so far. Jack has bruised ribs and a cracked left ulna, along with some relatively minor lacerations from the broken glass. He's expected to make a full recovery, although his ribs are going to be awfully sore for a while."

Bob knew very well how much bruised ribs hurt. The broken arm was technically the most serious injury, but it would be a nuisance compared to the every-breath-stabbing-agony-please-just-kill-me pain of the ribs. 

"And Eric? He's ok?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line - long enough that Bob pulled the phone away to check if the battery had died. "Hello?"

"Oh! I'm sorry Mr. Zimmermann - did you say Eric?"

"... Yes? Eric Bittle? You said Jack's first emergency contact was with him in the car?"

"Oh gosh, sir, I'm so sorry I wasn't clear. Alicia Zimmermann was in the car with Jack. You're listed on both of their contacts - I must not have been clear. Or maybe you didn't hear me when the line dropped off for a minute there."

Jenna's apologetic voice was drowned out by the pounding in Bob's ears, the spinning of the room. Both of them. He could have lost both of them. And why was Alicia even in Boston with Jack? She was supposed to be in New York filming a commercial. Bob felt like his heart was about to burst. Or maybe be crushed by the pressure squeezing his lungs.

"She's ok? Alicia? Is my wife ok?" He choked out.

"She's stable, although there's some concern for her neck. The doctor has ordered an MRI, so we should know more soon."

Her neck. Christ. Bob always teased her about that neck - it was so long and slender; his giant mitt of a hand could nearly encircle it from behind, finger tips brushing together at her throat. Bob felt hot tears burning behind his lids, but knew that if he let them fall, he’d be useless until he’d cried himself out. Alicia always used to tease him for being a strong boy with strong emotions. Oh God. Ali.

Bob managed to get the room information for both Jack and Alicia, shaky hand typing the details into his cellphone. He needed to book a flight. And Eric. He needed to call Eric. A tiny noise escaped his constricted throat at the thought of explaining. Of saying it out loud. He scrolled to Eric's contact (labelled Mr. Jack's Bitty which normally made him chuckle), finger quivering over the little green call icon.

He bobbled the phone in shock when it started buzzing in his hand - Eric's cheery profile picture appearing on the screen like a blonde, southern saint. Bob quickly answered.

"Eric! You heard? Are you ok?" Bob asked, trying not to let the quaver in his voice show.

"Oh gosh yes sir I'm alright - I was worried about you though; you must be half-way-to-sick with your whole family in the same accident! Jack managed to call me 30 minutes ago and I promised I’d update you as soon as I was on the road."

Bob’s throat tightened along with his hand on the mobile. He had to be careful not to break it. He coughed, a little raggedly, "Ouais. Yes. I'm." A strangled sound escaped and Bob could hear Eric's concerned hum over the line while he tried desperately to hold it together.

"Listen up mister, you're going to feel a whole lot better when you can see those two with your own eyes and know for sure that they're ok. I'm heading into Boston right now - Shitty's driving - but I'll call you again when I know more. Do you want a hand booking your flight? I want to help any way I can, even if that's just calling an airline for you."

This boy. Bob was so deeply, delightfully grateful that Jack had found a partner as warm and loving as Eric. Bitty.

"Non, Eric no, but thank you. I'm going to call a friend and get a flight out as quickly as I can. You'll call me though? Once you've seen them? Merde - are you on Jack's cleared list? I know those have been leaked and he might have been worried..."

"Oh yes, no, I'm on the list. Erm, George actually insisted. That Jack not leave me off just because. Well. You know."

Bob’s heart ached for his brave boys. "I'm glad Eric, you should be on the list. So you'll call me? When you've seen them?"

"You bet! Try not to panic, ok? They're both in good hands."

Bob nodded and caught himself, realizing of course that Eric couldn't see him. "Thank you Eric. I." His voice caught again. "I appreciate it. Thank you."

Eric's voice was soft and gentle enough to bring tears welling back to Bob’s eyes. "Of course Bob. Of course I'll call. They're gonna be just fine, you’ll see. Well I'd best get off the phone, we're getting close to the hospital and Shitty is the absolute worst at parking."

Bob heard Shitty’s indignant squawk and Eric's tinkling laugh. 

"Ok Eric, we'll talk soon. Give Jack a hug for me, and let Ali. Alicia..." his voice wavered again. God, his girl. "Let Alicia know I'm on my way, ok?"

"You bet Bob, we'll see you real soon. Travel safe you hear? The world cannot afford any more Zimmerman’s getting hurt today." 

"Will do, bye Eric." 

Bob could hear Shitty yelling something involving his name and praising his 'glorious genetic man juice' (Crisse, what an image) as he hung up. The first ghost of a smile crossed his face since the initial call, and he thanked whatever God was listening for Eric Bittle and Shitty Knight, who loved his Jack unconditionally. 


	2. Jack

Jack hated hospitals. Hated everything about them. The way they smelled. How bright white the lights were. The weird, dry, sterility of the air. The sounds of misery kept in time by the beeping of machines.

His very own metronome was picking up speed along with his heart as the anxiety started to race. He needed to calm down. Breathe slowly. Ignore the agony in his ribs, the chemical tang in the air, the dryness of his throat. He imagined individual oxygen molecules travelling into his tortured lungs, flooding his bloodstream. Just breathe. Just a little.

A hand gripped his own. Squeezed. A familiar voice echoed his thoughts.

“Just breathe sweetheart, you’re doing so good. Keep your eyes closed honey and just listen to my voice, and feel your breath. That’s it, Jack.”

Another squeeze. Another breath. More beeping, but slower now, less erratic.

Jack felt himself settle back into his body like he lowered down into an ice bath after a particularly grueling practice. Gingerly. A little painfully. But eventually he was back. He opened his eyes to find the same small room – private, thank God and the Falconer’s benefit plan – beigey pink walls no longer closing in on him like a fleshy fist.

And Bittle. Sitting next to his hospital bed, perched on the edge of a horribly uncomfortable visitor’s chair, gripping Jack’s good hand like a lifeline. Meeting his eyes was like a punch to the gut – Jack hated worrying him, and Bitty was most definitely worried. His already big eyes looked huge in his drawn, hollow-cheeked face. The pallor of his skin made the dark brown of his irises look nearly black. 

Jack mustered up a weak smile, and was rewarded with a wobbly quirk of Bittle’s lips.

“Hey there sugar, you back with me?”

Ah Jack loved his drawl. Eric often complained that he sounded like a dumb hick, but Jack couldn’t get enough of the molasses-slow vowels and plump consonants.

“Hey Bits.”

Eric dissolved into tears, as if he’d been clinging to the emotional edge for hours and the sound of Jack’s voice stomped on his fingers. 

“Sorry! Sorry honey, God,” Bitty hiccupped, swiping frantically at his cheeks with his free hand. “This is the last thing you need, me havin’ a fit.”

Jack pressed Eric’s fingers (not very hard, but he tried) before letting go to try and cup his face. His arm felt like it was moving through water, IV at his elbow tugging a little awkwardly, but he lifted it up high enough to clumsily stroke Bitty’s hair before skimming down the back of his head to wrap his hand around his slender neck and give a gentle squeeze.

“Don’t have to apologize to me, bud.”

Jack’s voice was starting to slur – the med pump must have just given him another dose of whatever painkiller was already on board. His eyelids were drooping and the world was starting to look fuzzy. His arm dropped off of Bitty more of its own accord than his brain’s request, but that was ok.

“Need to sleep some more, Bits. ‘m okay, mon couer. T'en fais pas. Je t’aime.”

Eric moved his delinquent arm beside him on the bed, mindful of the IV and tucking the thin, scratchy covers around him more securely.

“Okay baby, you sleep, I’ll be here.”

Jack felt a soft press of lips against his forehead, then both cheeks, before drifting off on the drugs and his own exhaustion.

“Love you too, Jack. I love you,” the last thing he heard before sleep took him.


	3. Bob

The next 40 minutes involved cashing in several favours until he had secured a private flight from YUL with an old buddy of a buddy of a teammate. And spending a shit pile of literal cash, but that was irrelevant. He had to get to Ali, and the next direct commercial flight didn't leave until 8pm.

Bob packed hastily - some clothes for him and some comfortable things for Alicia. He assumed Eric would have Jack taken care of. Bob’s composure wobbled a bit as he packed Alicia's raggedy old Samwell sweatshirt, but he managed to keep it together on the way to the airport, right up until the sleek little Cessna's wheels lifted off the tarmac. And then Bob finally let himself cry. Tears of fresh and remembered fear. The terror of losing Jack which had never dulled with age, combined with the idea of Ali being taken from him too was just - more than he could handle running on adrenaline and nine years of unprocessed guilt and grief.

After an hour flight, what felt like an ocean of tears, and an irritating conversation at customs (including a request for an autograph, Crisse) later, Bob was finally jittering away in the back of an Uber headed to Mass. General. To his family. 

Eric, after leaving some voicemails and probably deducing he was in flight, had been updating him over text. Nothing new, everyone was sore and doped up but ok, Alicia was in a neck brace which looked real scary but the doctor’s optimistic, etc. etc. blah blah. Bob felt like his skin was a few sizes too small, nerves simmering and tingling underneath, ready to bubble free. He needed to see her. That’s it, just see her first and then he could take care of them both.

Alicia had become a talisman of sorts for Bob. It had started when they were first dating – she was his luck, he used to say. But it was more than luck. Bob’s mind tended to wander off in all directions unless he concentrated his hardest. Ali focused him. Even with the rest of his thoughts whirling about like the colour and flash of a pinwheel, she was the center. He could always find her, and then the rest of the world made more sense.

Bob managed a gruff “thank you” to his cheery Uber driver, and nearly fell out of the vehicle in his haste at the hospital’s main entrance. ‘Smooth moves, Zimmermann,’ Ali’s voice teased with a smile in his mind. He was close. Reception desk, check. Room verified, visitor badge (slowly) printed, elevator found. Bob fiddled with his newly printed – and now slightly smudged – badge as he watched the floor approach. The elevator naturally stopped at every level in between, harried and hurried faces coming and going. Bob took slow breaths, coaching himself like he used to coach Jack when he was a little boy nervous about a game. Just breathe. In for three, hold, out for three.

The elevator chimed for floor seven and Bob (as gently as possible) shouldered his way out of the car, muttering apologies in true Canadian fashion. Ali was just down the hall. But the driving, pulsing, nearly desperate need that had propelled him this far sputtered out in a moment of sheer dread. What if she wasn’t ok. Anouk, staring into the corner came back to his mind and Bob forced his muscles to move. One step at a time. She was alive, and that’s what mattered. Starting down the rabbit hole of cervical-spinal-damage-paralysis-holy-god wouldn’t help anyone. Least of all his girl, who must be terrified.

Bob checked in quietly with the nursing staff and headed to room 701. Lucky number one. Maybe it was a good omen. The door was open, and Bob walked in as silently as possible in case she was asleep. The first thing he saw was the neck brace – clunky and horrifying in its implication. But it was her face that held his attention. So beautiful, his Alicia. Even in pain and frightened, skin pulled tight across her sharp cheekbones from the stress, she was ethereal. Bob’s heart started beating normally for the first time since he got the call.

Alicia must have sensed his presence, because she slid her eyes over to the doorway, gaze widening slightly at the sight of him. Rumpled, wan, and looking like a complete zoo he was sure.

“Bobby,” she called out softly. The tears started coursing down his cheeks completely without his permission. He hurried towards the bed and her outstretched hand (a part of his mind rejoicing that she could move her arms). He grasped her hand hard enough to draw a slight wince, but she didn’t pull away.

“< It’s ok my love, I’m ok. Just breathe Bobby. >” 

Bob tried to listen, bending his face down to rest gently against her breast. Her other hand came up to stroke his hair, scratching gently at the base of his neck where he liked it best. As always, her touch grounded him. Like a benediction.

“That’s it. You’re ok, honey. I’m ok too.”

Bob lifted his head, wiping roughly at his cheeks. He leaned up to kiss Alicia gently on the lips.

“Crisse, Ali. What are they saying about your neck?”

“The muscles are pissed off, is the layman’s version. Grade three whiplash, so I’ve got a wicked headache already and everything from my mid-back to my eyeballs is screaming without the pain meds. My vertebrae seem to be fine, though, and there’s no sign of paralysis.”

Her voice hitched a little at the “p” word.

“What about the brace?”

“Just a precaution, and they don’t want my neck moving too much because of how inflamed the muscles are. It looks worse than it is.”

Bob sighed, tracing a finger gently across the porcelain of her skin.

“Christ, Ali, I was so scared. I love you so much, and when I heard that you AND Jack…” his voice trailed off, throat locking down with emotion.

Alicia reached for him, tugging him back down into the modified hug necessitated by hospital beds.

“We’re ok, Bobby. Jack’s going to be grumpier than a bear in spring with those ribs and arm, but Eric will handle him. And I’m going to need a shit pile of physio, but hopefully I’ll heal up quick. But we’re ok. I promise.”

Bob nodded into the scratchy blanket covering her from toe to shoulders.

“Are you cold? I’m always cold in the hospital.” Bob bustled – as much as a 6’2”, 220-pound man could bustle – around the room, fixing the curtain, getting Ali a drink, and finally poking his head out of the room to request a warm blanket.

Alicia just smiled gently, humoring him. She’d been in Bob’s position more times than she liked to count during his career. It helped to have something concrete to do.

“Bobby, why don’t you go check on Jack. Eric’s with him, but I wouldn’t mind a report.”

Bob’s head popped up from where he’d been hunting through the cabinet that held her personal effects, looking for the socks presumable, judging by the fact he was holding them. She was reminded of startled Meer cat and barely suppressed a chuckle.

“Ouais! Yes, yes of course I need to see Jack. I’ll be right back!”

Bob practically jogged out of the room, socks still in hand. Alicia laughed, but choked a little on the pain it caused. She sighed. It was going to be a long couple of months. Hopefully not longer, but who knew.


	4. Jack & Bob

Jack was just coming out of his latest drug-induced stupor when Bob hustled into his room. Eric was typing quietly on his phone, and Jack smiled softly at his boyfriend’s slightly less stressed looking face. Bits was so beautiful. Even in the unforgiving fluorescent hospital lights that made everyone look vaguely corpse-like.

“Hey Papa,” Jack said softly, watching Eric startle a little at his voice and Bob’s presence in the room.

“Jack. How are you feeling bud?”

Jack could feel tears threaten at the soft and worried tone of his dad’s voice. He’d said the exact same thing in the exact same way when Jack had come to following his overdose so many years ago. It still felt like yesterday sometimes.

“I’m ok, Papa. Sore. Annoyed. My ribs hurt like a bitch, and I’m not looking forward to feeling them without the morphine.”

Bob chuckled quietly.

“Yeah son, ribs are the worst. But you’ve got excellent company at least, to distract you,” he said, nodding at Eric.

Bittle hopped up from his spot in the chair, looking a little nervous (like he always did for the first few minutes with Bob), but Bob just reached out and wrapped Eric up in something between a bro and real hug, and Jack could see the tension drain out of his shoulders.

“Eric, thanks for updating me. I was a wreck.”

“Of course Bob, it’s the worst not knowing what’s happening and being far away.”

Bitty’s voice wavered a little, and Jack felt another pang of guilt for scaring his boyfriend. Bob made a concerned noise – he’d heard it too – but Bitty just waved away both of their worry in his classic southern manner.

“Don’t fuss over me you giant Canadians, I always get a little rattled after the fact. I’m going to go grab a coffee and what they call a muffin downstairs. Give you two a chance to chat. Do you want anything Bob?”

Jack smiled softly while his dad shook his head with a “no, thanks Eric,” and reached (kind of, fuck his ribs) for Eric. Bitty came over to kiss his cheek like the mind-reader he was.

“Thanks Bits. Love you, bud.”

“I love you too, honey,” Eric murmured, flushing a little and still a bit shy about saying such things in front of Jack’s family. As Eric turned he paused for a moment.

“Bob, uh. Did you want me to take Alicia’s socks to her?”

Bob’s face underwent a rather comical transformation from confusion to surprise when he looked down as if startled to see a pair of balled up women’s socks still in his hand.

“Oh! Hah. Sure, thank you Eric, I didn’t realize I still had them.”

Jack would have laughed at the chagrin on his dad’s face, except for. The. Fucking. Ribs.

After Eric had walked out with socks in hand, patting Bob’s shoulder affectionately as he went, Bob settled down in the chair and put his face in his hands. Jack felt a pang, remembering a similar pose and sense of fear and distress from his papa from the last time they’d been in this position.

“Papa,” Jack started a bit tentatively. “Are you ok?”

Jack watched, a little bit shocked as his dad’s shoulder’s quivered, a flush spreading down his neck. Bob scrubbed roughly at his face for a moment before looking up to meet Jack’s worried gaze. It always struck Bob to see Ali’s eyes staring at him from this grown man’s face.

“I’m ok Jack, just scared the shit out of me. I didn’t know it was your mom in the car with you. I thought she was in New York, and the idea of both of you…”

Bob’s voice trailed off, eyes welling again, hot and itchy with so much crying/trying not to cry over the last several hours.

“I’m sorry Papa, so sorry you went through that. I’d asked maman to meet me in Boston because” Jack trailed off a little.

“Because I wanted to look for a ring for Eric, and really wanted her advice.”

Bob reached out to cup Jack’s face in his hand, a genuine grin finally cracking across his face.

“Oh Jack. I’m so happy for you, Bud. Eric is … he’s just. He’s the best.”

Jack grinned back at his Dad.

“Yeah, he really is.”

The two of them smiled goofily at each other for another moment before Bob startled a little.

“So did you find one? A ring?”

The sappy contentment painted across Jack’s face fled, along what little colour he’d had in his cheeks.

“Merde. Fuck. Papa, the ring box was in my jeans! I don’t know where it is!”

Jack was struggling to sit up in his urgency, and Bob practically leapt out of the chair to stop him.

“Christ Jack, watch your ribs, let me look for you.”

“Ouais, yes, thank you Papa. Please hurry, before Eric gets back,” he gasped out.

Bob hunted through the room for the cabinet where the staff would have stored Jack’s personal effects. Crouching down, knees popping, he found the plastic bag with Jack’s clothes. The torn and bloodied shirt caused a moment of pause, but Bob pushed through his own alarm to try and ease Jack’s.

There, jeans (custom made to fit a hockey body), mostly intact, and lumpy with a ring box.

“Got it!” 

Bob wiggled the box out of the pocket, and turned to see Jack’s relieved face. He handed the ring over to Jack who cradled it possessively against his chest with his one good arm.

“May I see?” Bob asked a little hesitantly.

“Of course, Papa, here, just be ready to hide it real quick if Eric comes back.”

Bob took the ring box from Jack and slowly cracked it open. Inside was a simple but elegant band. Brushed white gold (or maybe platinum), straight edges, and a row of alternating diamonds and rubies in a ring around the bottom.

“I wanted something a little different. Thought Samwell red was a nice touch, but not too out-there.”

Jack sounded a little nervous, like maybe he thought Bob’s delay in saying anything was a negative judgement. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Bob smiled up at Jack.

“Son, it’s a beautiful ring. I think Eric will love it.”

Jack smiled back, a little shy.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, son.”

“Mom liked it too, so,” Jack trailed off, anxiety showing a little on his face.

“Worst case Jack, if Eric wants something else, you boys go shopping together. But it’s beautiful and I think he’ll love it.”

Jack smiled again, nodding a little. Both men startled at the sound of the drug pump engaging. 

“Well, you’re going to be asleep in about 3 minutes kiddo,” Bob joked. “Do you want me to hold onto this for you?”  
“Ouais, Papa. Merci,” Jack slurred out, morphine already kicking in.

Bob leaned over to press a kiss to Jack’s forehead, smoothing back the thick black hair so like his own.

“Rest easy son, I’ll keep it safe.”

“Jus’ like Frodo.”

Bob laughed silently at his ridiculous and drugged up boy. “You bet kiddo, just like Frodo.”

Bob tucked the ring safely into the zipper pocket of his jacket. His boy was safe. And in love. And going to be engaged sooner than later. Bob chuckled again and made his way back to Alicia’s room with “the precious” and a lifetime worth of chirping material. 

His family was going to be ok. Better than ok.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ring: https://www.fascinatingdiamonds.com/jewelry/mens-wedding-band-with-red-ruby-in-950-platinum/twin-ribbed-band/1451p7m78s0c


End file.
